


Get Into My Car

by modernlifehistorian



Category: Timeless (TV 2016)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, More Fluff, Post Season 2, Post Series, lots of fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-12
Updated: 2018-04-12
Packaged: 2019-04-22 02:40:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14298990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/modernlifehistorian/pseuds/modernlifehistorian
Summary: “You know how it was for me after you brought me home from World War I, from Rittenhouse, and while I had begun to adjust, I still… I was just at a loss for hope, and somehow, in the trunk of a bootlegger’s car, you gave it back to me.”





	Get Into My Car

**Author's Note:**

> So the original prompt I received on tumblr from ships-sailing-in-the-night was for Lucy to take Wyatt to some kind of history museum and to be giving her tons of heart eyes as she explains all the facts about stuff, and well… this one has a museum… and Lucy and Wyatt, but those are about all the similarities. This one kind of took on a life of its own. This fic is in the same line as Morning and Night, so if you want explanation of how they defeated Rittenhouse, go check out that one! Hope y’all enjoy!

Lucy doesn’t remember feeling such tightness in her chest since they went on their final Rittenhouse mission. Although the two situations might not be _exactly_ comparable. One was about saving the fate of the future, and this one… well this one is really important to her, so she feels the stress is justified. The one hand she has on the steering wheel keeps fidgeting restlessly while the other is wrapped tightly around Wyatt’s. He’s sitting patiently in the passenger seat, switching his eyes between the scenery around them, trying to decipher where they’re headed and her, eyeing her suspiciously, but not saying a word. Well not yet, at least.

“C’mon, Luce.” He whines, tugging on her hand just a bit. “Please, tell me where we’re going.”

“Nowhere,” Lucy shrugs, but she really can’t lie. She cracks a smile.

“Oh, sure,” he pretends to play along. “You not-so-subtly asked me a few weeks ago if I wasn’t working this weekend, then you packed me an overnight bag while I was out on my run this morning.” She glances quizzically at him from the corner of her eye. “You packed the shirt I was going to wear that day, the one you like so much,” he explains, squeezing her hand slightly. She can’t help but blush. “It was there when I left, but not when I got back.” A small smile passes her lips. She really does love that shirt. “Then,” he continues his unravelling of her attempts to be sneaky. “You asked if you could drive us to dinner tonight, which you _never_ do, and we’ve been driving for…” he glances at his watch with a wry smirk. “Over an hour. Clearly we’re not going to Torchy’s for our friday night tacos. So where exactly are we going?” Damn his Delta Force observation skills. Lucy purses her lips to keep from smiling, but her poker face sucks just as bad now as it did last Thursday at their weekly Poker night with Rufus, Jiya, Mason, and Denise (and occasionally Flynn when he decides to take a break from life off the grid.)

“That obvious, huh?” she chuckles shyly.

“Mmhm,” he hums, leaning over to press long, open mouthed kisses to her neck, making her squirm a bit. “Can’t keep secrets from me, ma’am. No one knows you quite like I do.” It’s true, and she knows it. She loves it, but she also knows that there is a trick still up her sleeve that he will never see coming. “So…” he begins to run his free hand up her thigh. She can feel her body temperature rise for every inch his hand does. “How about you tell me where we’re going, and I can make the rest of the ride a little more enjoyable. Deal?” As much as she wants to say hell yes and let them continue down this path, she knows it’ll be that much sweeter if she makes him wait. But she might give him a little preview.

She turns to the side and lands a searing kiss across the lips that had just been trying to leave a mark on her neck, dipping her tongue just enough into his mouth to make him moan in that deep way she feels vibrate to her core before pulling back.

“Don’t be distracting the driver, Master Sergeant,” she smiles before straightening up in her seat, turning up her John Denver CD just a bit and placing her eyes back on the road. Wyatt lets out another groan, this one a little more pitiful, dropping his head back against the headrest and clearly trying to catch his breath.

* * *

 

By the time Lucy finally pulls off the highway, Wyatt’s clearly discovered that they’re going to Sacramento, and since that lightbulb went off, he hasn’t been able to shut up.

“So are you taking me on a tour of the state capital? Oh! Sacramento Zoo? It can’t be as good as San Diego’s, just so you know. Old Sacramento? Railroad Museum? It’s a museum, isn’t it?” Lucy knows he’s just trying to get her to crack, show her hand, but she holds her tongue, just trying to remember the directions she memorized the day before.

She tells him to close his eyes as soon as their destination comes into sight. It’s past 8:00 by the time she parks the car. The California sun is burning its way through the western horizon, and it’s started to cool down outside when she jumps out of her seat, running around to open the door for him.

“Can I open my eyes now?” he huffs as she pulls him from his seat, guiding him to the door.

“No, not yet!” she laughs at his exasperation. The building doesn’t look like much from the outside. Just an old warehouse with chipped white paint on the walls and the occasional garage door, but she knows the wonder that awaits Wyatt inside.

When she has him close enough so he will be able to read the little banner above the main entrance, she finally tells him “Okay. Open your eyes.”

His eyes shoot open, but it takes them a second to adjust to the light before he smiles widely and reads the sign aloud: “California Automobile Museum.” He looks at her with a look of amazement and they trade the goofiest smiles.

“Happy birthday,” she beams, pulling him closer to the door.

“Luce, my birthday isn’t for another month and a half,” he explains, and she shoots him a look _._

“I know that,” she shakes her head at him, turning to knock on the glass. “But… ugh, just be patient. You’ll see.” They stand outside in the evening light before a middle-aged woman in a plum sweater and glasses comes to the door.

“Lucy, I’m glad you made it!” The woman exclaims as she pulls Lucy in for a hug.

“Oh you know I couldn’t miss this, Delta,” Lucy laughs. “I’ve been waiting for this to come through for a while.” Wyatt wonders what exactly she’s referring to.

“Well it wouldn’t have been possible without you, and it’s all set to open up on Monday,” Delta informs her before turning her attention to Wyatt. “And you must be Wyatt Logan.”

“Yes, ma’am, that’s me.” He’s about to put his hand out for her to shake, but she pulls him into a hug instead.

“So lovely to finally meet you. You got here in just in time; I was just about to close up,” she explains.

“And you’re still sure this is okay?” Lucy asks, and Wyatt is again left to question what’s actually happening.

“Of course, Lucy,” she replies, much to Wyatt’s confusion. “As I said, we wouldn’t have this exhibit without you, so it’s only fair you get a preview before we present it to the public. The night janitor should be here in a couple hours, so you won’t have to worry about locking up or anything.” Lucy nods in response, and Wyatt doesn’t know how much longer he can go without some clue as to what’s going on.

Delta bids them goodnight before heading out to her car, and Lucy grabs Wyatt’s hand, leading him through the doors.

“Alright, Luce, give me something,” Wyatt chuckles at her excitement, happily following her lead.

“Delta is an old family friend,” Lucy tells him. “She’s been the Executive Director here for the past 3 years, so when I reached out to her about acquiring a certain collection of automobiles and offered to help with the funding and creation of the exhibit, she was more than willing to assist.”

“And what exhibit is that exactly?” In any other situation with any other person, the lack of information would be driving him insane, but, here, with Lucy, he could get absolutely zero answers, and the sight of her filled with such joy and exhilaration will always be enough for him.

Man, he loves her.

His hands begin to shake a bit. He’s all nerves, but her voice pulls him back

“Be patient!” she sighs in feign exasperation. “You’ll see!” He might have pushed the question a little more, but when they make it into the main space of the warehouse, he’s stunned silent.

It’s every childhood dream come to life in front of him. Rows upon rows upon rows of the classic cars he would read about in his room every night after his successful repairing of his good ole pop’s run down rust buckets. He memorized all the facts his brain could hold, dreaming of the day he might drive one, might own one. All his knowledge of cars came into great use when he started bootlegging, but it was never gratifying, none of his acts of rebellion ever were.

 The dream came true on a dirt road in 1955, running from the cops with Lucy in the backseat (although the bomb under the hood was less than ideal) in a real stock car. _Lucille._ He smiles at the coincidence that he thinks might not be so coincidental. _Lucille_ made that small dream a reality, and Lucy fulfilled and continues to fulfill all the rest. Or at least he hopes she will. His hands begin to quiver again.

“So what do you think?” Again her loving voice guides him home. “Is it… okay?” He realizes that his lack of a response while lost in thought might have stirred some doubt in her. He’ll fix that.

He grabs her hand, and now he’s the one pulling her in every which direction, telling her every fact he knows about every car he’s ever read about. She laughs when he scoffs at the section of Fords ( _Chevy is the truck of Texans, Lucy, plus Ford was Rittenhouse, so it would just be wrong. No, I don’t care that the Model T was the first mass produced car in the US. It’s still wrong.)_ and eyes him quizzically when he goes nuts for the 1978 Kawasaki Motorcycle ( _It’s from CHiPs, Lucy! The greatest cop show; it’s a fact.)._ She occasionally gets a word in because she does know a thing or two about cars, but for the most part she just follows his lead and hangs onto the words flowing from him. For how much he’s grown, Wyatt still has a tendency to reserve his enthusiasm, preferring near silent observation and introspection, so seeing him in this state of wonder is something she’ll never get enough of. Still… there’s something she’s dying to show him.

“Hey, Wyatt,” she cuts in when he finally takes a minute to breathe. “Can I show you something?” He gives her one of those loving smiles that makes her knees go weak and just nods. “Lead the way, ma’am.”

She pulls him towards a front corner of the warehouse where there appears to be an opening leading to a separate wing of the museum, and hanging right above the entrance is a banner.

 

AFRICAN AMERICANS IN THE HISTORY OF NASCAR

 

“Lucy...” There are all kinds of historical racing cars in the room: Willy T Ribbs’ red Budweiser TransAm from his win in Portland in 1963, the Rolex Sports Car Bill Lester used to become the first African American to win in a Grand-AM race, the car Wendell Scott raced in his first Grand National victory, but there is one car that stands apart from the dozens of others: in look and in display. It’s the centerpiece, although it looks older and less like a racecar than the others. Sitting atop a round stand, all rusted and chipped red paint, with a bold, white 34 on the side and the trunk. “Is that…?”

“Old Rusty,” she beams. “The car that made the Fall Creek Run.” He’s stunned speechless. The last time he saw this car was in 1955 which for them was both over 60 years ago and almost 2 years ago. “Lucy, this is… it’s amazing, but... how?”

“Well I had the idea for this exhibit a while back, and after Delta agreed to house it, I used the advance from my last book to help fund all that they needed. They got a hold of a lot of good pieces.” She gestures around the room. “But after a few months of researching and calling, they couldn’t find Rusty anywhere. It seems it fell into the shadows of the cars Wendell used later in his career, but, really, teaching people about Wendell Scott and this car and his impact on the industry was the whole reason I wanted to get all this together. I enlisted Rufus and Jiya to help me track it down, and for a while we came up with nothing.” He watches her shoulders droop a bit at the memory. “I figured all that we had collected would be better than nothing, and we still had plenty, but this car… it’s pretty special to me.” He leans into her and urges her to continue, gently squeezing her hand. “You know how it was for me after you brought me home from World War I, from Rittenhouse, and while I had begun to adjust, I still… I was just at a loss for hope, and somehow, in the trunk of a bootlegger’s car, you gave it back to me.”  He feels the knots tighten in his stomach again and butterflies begin to flutter around them. It’s perfect. She’s perfect.

“But I got a call in the middle of class one day from Rufus, saying he found it.” Her smile returns in full force. “It was in this old collector’s garage in the middle of nowhere, Kentucky. He charged us an arm and leg, but I think it was worth it.” Wyatt can’t agree more. This car is just as special to him as it is to her. He feels the overwhelming urge to sweep her into his arms, so that’s exactly what he does.

“Wyatt!” she laughs as he spins her around, but he silences her before her feet even find the ground again, covering her mouth with his. His arms wrapped firmly around her allows him to pull her so close that every inch of their bodies align, and her eager response helps calm him. She opens her mouth to him when he lightly nips her lips, and he plans to take the time for his tongue to carefully explore every inch of her mouth, but, like she had earlier on the drive here, she pulls back right as things start to heat up, and again he can’t help but groan in frustration.

“You’re gonna kill me if you keep doin’ that, babydoll,” he growls. “I only have so much self control.” She just giggles, leaving one last quick kiss on his pouty lips before wiggling out of his grasp.

“Patience,” she tells him and walks closer to the old car.

“Lucy, what--” He is about to ask what she’s doing, but rather than give him the time, she just hops up on the display and pops the trunk open, casting a rather flirty gaze his way. “Okay…” He says with skepticism. “I think there are rules about touching the displays, Luce.” She just shrugs and smirks.

“Someone taught me it’s good to be a little reckless every now and then.” He loves his usual awkward, clumsy Lucy more than words, but there is something so enticing about what he’s seeing now. Confident, just a little reckless, and downright sexy.

When it seems to her that he needs further convincing, she leans over to press a small button under the back wheel, and the false wall drops down, leaving an even larger vacant space.  

What once held moonshine and two obliviously in love time travelers now lay physically empty but full of—-dare he say—possibilities. He points to the trunk. “In there?” She gives him a sly smile.

“Figure we can finish what we started in 1955.” She’s so damn irresistible standing there with a hand on her hip looking so casual in her faded ‘country road take me home’ t-shirt,  worn jeans, and insanely curly hair. He’s seen her in the most beautiful gowns from every era of American history, but it’s this--this comfortable, homey attire that takes his breath away. He wants to throw caution to the wind, but he hesitates for just one more thing.

“Luce, you’re claustrophobic,” he reminds her, yet it seems she’s got an answer to that locked and loaded.

“I don’t feel like I’m drowning when you’re there,” she shyly admits, and that’s all he needs before he’s hopping up on the platform with her, tugging her in for another kiss. He shrugs off the light flannel from his shoulders and places it on the floor of the trunk. It won’t offer much comfort, but they both know why he does it. He climbs in and she follows, and he gives her barely a second to adjust while he lays the lid down just enough to allow some light in before he’s laying himself down on top of her, capturing her waiting lips. Her hands slide up to frame his jaw, enjoying the rough scratch of his short bead against her palms, and he settles with one elbow supporting his weight, and the other roaming freely along her body. She shudders when his calloused fingers run across the skin that’s appeared above the waistline of her jeans before dipping down just a little. When she gasps, he takes the opportunity to make up for what she denied him earlier; his tongue slides briefly across hers before taking his time, mapping every corner of her mouth. She loves this, him, how he kisses her like it’s the first time every time, like she’s just as much of a mystery, of a new land, that he has to memorize, even though she knows by now he knows every little bit of her, inside and out. She hopes he never stops kissing her like this.

Wyatt can’t believe this. Can’t believe his luck. It’s something he has planned on doing for a while, and when he learned she was planning this surprise trip, he figured he’d throw in a little surprise of his own, but nothing could have prepared him for how well the stars lined up for them tonight. He figures the stars owe them that after it seemed like they were doomed to be nothing more than crossed. He has no doubts any more.

He feels Lucy’s hands begin to wander just a little more, and as much as he’s been wanting for her all evening, he wants to--needs to--do this. Now.

“Hey, Luce?” he asks gently, pulling away and dropping onto his side next to her.

“Hmm?” she responds, still a little caught up in a daze, but he needs her attention.

“Lucy.” She opens her eyes to attention and sits up on her elbows.

“Wyatt, what’s wrong?” He didn’t mean to startle her, but he just presses on.

“Nothing’s wrong, sweetheart,” he smiles softly, brushing a stray hair from her forehead. “There’s just… something I want to talk to you about.” She doesn’t say anything, just waits for him to continue.

“Do you remember the last time we were in this trunk?” he inquires even though he knows it’s kind of a dumb question.

“Vaguely,” she quips, running a hand along his cheek.

 “Well, you still were trying to come to grips with everything about your mother, and I told you that despite all the heartache, maybe it was a good thing it all happened. Because at least you knew.” She nods, and he takes a deep breath.

“We had to go through a lot to get to where we are,” he mused. “A lot of it my fault and at your expense.” He sees she’s about to correct him, but he shakes his head. “It’s true, but looking back on all of it now I realize that maybe it was a good thing because in the midst of all of it, I made a decision. That you were the one I wanted to be with despite everything else that tried to get in our way. So in the end it was all a good thing because I knew without a shadow of a doubt that I was ready to move on.” He reaches for his chest pocket then remembers that he set down his flannel for Lucy to lay on. “ _Shit,_ ” he mumbles, reaching around her. Thankfully she hasn’t exactly caught on to what’s happening, so he has a little time. “Sorry,” he whispers as he tugs the shirt a little to find what he’s looking for. He wraps it in his hand so she won’t see it and pulls his hand back to his chest.

“We have an open road ahead of us, Lucy.” He clears his throat to keep his voice steady before showing his hand. She lifts a hand to her mouth when she sees the ring between his fingers, glinting in the light that seeps through the crack in the trunk. “And I want you beside me the whole way. Passenger, driver, whatever the hell you want, but please…” One more deep breath. “Lucy, will you marry me?” He hopes she’s just too stunned to speak because each passing second of silence feels like an eternity to him. Just as the first tear falls from her golden eyes, her head begins to nod frantically, but the word seems to be caught in her throat. “Yes?” he presses just a bit. His anxiety is killing his patience.

“Yes,” she finally chokes out, her hand dropping from her mouth to reveal what Wyatt confirms is the biggest smiles he’s ever seen across her beautiful lips. “Yes, yes, yes, Wyatt, yes.” She bypasses the ring entirely and launches herself into his arms, causing them to flip over with Lucy laying atop him. This kiss is more simple than the one they were sharing earlier, but the passion and love behind it feels unmatched.

There are still tears of joy falling from her eyes when he reaches down to grasp her left hand, bringing to his lips before slipping the ring onto her slender finger. It’s simple, a solitaire diamond on a silver band, and absolutely perfect. Not like the gaudy gem she had recieved from Noah so long ago. It’s classic and elegant, and, most importantly, from Wyatt. She kisses him once more before resting her chin on his chest. He slips his arms behind his head so he can look up at her, pure joy etched into every feature.

“So did you find out somehow that I was bringing you here? Because that was a little too elegant of a speech to be made up on the spot,” she teases, running her hands up his arms to lace  their fingers together.

“Little faith in me, I see!” he laughs, squeezing her hands. “No, ma’am, when I figured out you were planning this little expedition I intentionally kept my nose out of it, so you could still have the joy of surprising me, but I figured this was the last time you would be expecting me to propose, so I planned it in as my own surprise. Everything else was just luck and my romantic soul.” He’s thrown when she looks away for a second. “Luce?”

“I honestly wasn’t sure if you were ever going to,” she admits still looking away. “I knew you loved me, but I didn’t know if you ever wanted to try marriage again.” Her words make him ache to hold her properly. He takes a moment to push the lid of the trunk open, so he can sit up against the side and pull her to him.

“You’re all I’ve ever wanted, Lucy,” he whispers into her ear. “Even before I met you, this is all I was ever meant for. To be your partner. To be your other half. To be the reckless hothead to your bossy know-it-all.” He’s relieved when he feels her chuckle against him. “So, of course, I was going to do this. You think I want to risk you finding someone you liked better and running off with him?” Her laughs grow a little more. He tilts her chin up, so he can look her in the eyes; their still a little red, but the love in them is enough to reassure him. “We were never ‘meant to be,’ Lucy. We just chose to be. And I plan on choosing you everyday for the rest of my life.” She reaches around his neck and pull his mouth back down to hers. The way she kisses him this time reminds him of the one she’d given him when they were driving away from the Silo for the last time, when out of nowhere she had told him to pull over the car and kissed him like there was no tomorrow. It’s a kiss of celebration, of joy, of fulfillment, and just like that time on the side of the road in middle of nowhere California, it progresses fairly quickly. Lucy gets up and places her knees on either side of Wyatt’s hips, and his hands start in her hair then slowly fall down her back before settling in her back pockets, giving a gentle squeeze for extra measure. Her nails rake a long his chest and up to the nape of his neck. Wyatt pushes her forward so their hips meet, and he lets out hearty growl at the feeling of her pressed against him, and she lets out a faint moan, biting down just hard enough on his bottom lip. He slips his hands from her jeans and up under the back of her shirt, dragging them at tantalizingly slow pace, and he’s about to make quick work ridding of her bra when they both hear a door slam close from somewhere in the main hall and jump apart, but Lucy just looks at him and smiles before dropping her head into the crook of his neck.

“The night janitor,” she chuckles, snuggling as far into him as she can manage. “Probably a good thing, though. I don’t know if this car could handle us.” He just groans in response, wrapping his arms around her back and pulling her impossible closer “But we do have a hotel room waiting,” she whispers with her lips against his neck.

“Oh?” he inquires as she begins to climb off his lap much to his disappointment.

“Of course,” she replies, pulling his flannel onto her shoulders. “Didn’t think we were sleeping here, did you?”

“I don’t know,” he smirks. “Some of the old cars have pretty roomy back seats.” She just rolls her eyes.

“I’d prefer a nice king-sized bed and continental breakfast,” she laughs, reaching for his hand when he finally makes it out of the trunk. He grabs it and pulls her toward him again, pressing one more kiss to her lips. “I’ll take all that so long as you’re there.”

“Oh, I will be,” she promises. They make their way out of the museum and into the car, but before he turns on the engine, Wyatt can’t help but lean over and pull her to him just one more time, playfully fidgeting with the ring on her left hand.

“What was that one for?” she asks giddily, nuzzling her nose against his.

“I’ve just never been this… happy,” he confesses. “Never.”

“Well it looks good on you,” she smiles, and he thinks it looks pretty damn good on her too. He presses a soft kiss to her forehead before turning on the car and heading out onto the open road.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Please leave a review if you feel moved to do so! They help encourage me to continue writing through this difficult Lyatt time. (It’s cool. They’re still endgame.)


End file.
